When Reality Falters
by Aine Caoimhe
Summary: In progress story - DRAFT - Loghain joins an unlikely ragtag band of fighters led by a young female Grey Warden in their imminent battle against the Blight.


The slight blonde elven assassin was tugging on his hair and staring into the fire. Loghain chuckled softly, visibly relaxing as he watched the boy. Zevran had carefully posed himself in front of the campfire to his best advantage, partially undressed and muscles gleaming.

"_Not for my benefit, clearly enough_." Loghain snuck a quick glance at the woman seated in a characteristically defensive position across the fire. This was the likely target of the boy's affections. The red-headed lass had her glance firmly planted on Loghain however and not the primping rogue. 'Glance' was, of course, a kind way of describing the cold and calculating glare cutting clear through the smoke of the fire in his direction. Why she was staring at _him_ instead of the come-hither elf was a mystery, even to Loghain. She didn't quit however and this had been happening with increasing frequency in the hours since his body had *dared* to win against the "taint" (as they so eloquently called it) in the Grey Warden "Joining" ritual. A ritual, no doubt, that was intended both to be his punishment and their revenge against his crimes, both real and perceived. Perhaps she glared because she realized the joke was really on them. He just didn't have the sense to die easily.

Loghain let his glance travel quickly from the armour he absentmindedly pretended to clean, to the attractive young woman's pointed and steady glare remaining unapologetically in his direction, then on to the still primping young elf. The lad didn't appear put-off in the least, very likely a man quite used to getting what he desired, eventually. Still, he did put on a good show. Loghain sucked in his middle self-consciously before letting his breath out sharply with a sigh. He wasn't 20 years old any longer, and though well preserved, had neither reason to, nor a chance in hell of competing with the handsome, young elf.

'_What a strange thought to have'_, Loghain muttered to himself, blaming the still potent darkspawn blood coursing unhappily through his veins for his momentary lapse of common sense. With a genuinely grumpy snort, he went back to polishing his worn, familiar armour by the light of the communal fire. Icy glares or not, plate did not clean itself.

By the Maker, the warden was still staring at him. Loghain stood, roughly brushing the dirt from his legs before scooping up his newly cleaned armour and striding purposefully across the camp to his tent. It did not go unnoticed. He felt those eyes, now joined by a veritable army of angry glares, following his movement. Untrusting, unapologetic and cold. Still, he could not rightly blame them. There had been, though, a moment earlier where those eyes had faltered. Loghain had not failed to notice it. It had happened shortly after that young twit Alistair had ended his monologue inspired snit by storming out of the Landsmeet, leaving the warden and her companions high and dry in a manner that even great bards would have trouble exceeding in pure melodrama. She was crushed, that much had been clear. The stupid young boy, a spitting image of his father Maric when his brow was furled just so and his lips twisted into that self-righteous sneer, had stormed out of the Landsmeet hall with great aplomb. With the slamming of that large oak door and the ominous echo that followed, she had …faltered. Her normally serious front had fallen, like the ill-fitting mask of an actor in a poorly cast play. She had looked then to Loghain. Blaming? Far too full of sorrow to be seething. Her eyes, deep grey blue pools of … some emotion. Loghain didn't dwell on the possible explanation behind it as he was well aware that where he was concerned, it was not of the flattering kind. Judging from the sounds coming from the warden's tent soon after, she didn't stop to dwell on such thoughts either.

Laying on cold padding, too thin to disguise the uneven earth beneath his bedroll, Loghain grunted and turned to face the tent flap. Can't put your back to this bunch, he thought grimly, knowing though that sleep was a necessity and not an option. Outside, he could hear nothing but the fire crackling softly, whispering its threats of going out. His eyelids grew heavy. This had been one hell of a day. As his body faded resignedly into the grasp of sleep his mind momentarily drifted a weary return back to those blue eyes staring from the other side of the fire. Cloaked in the buffer of his semi-conscious state, the memory of her stare had lost some of its angst. He grumbled and cleared the thought hastily from his mind. Damned if he would allow her to invade his sleep as well as command his days. Sleep came, silent, heavy and without warning.

"Wake up!" a female voice hissed a bit too close to his ear. Loghain startled himself awake with a jolt and lunged headlong into the dark, only to have his fist smash with bone-crunching precision into a well-placed shield. The dull thud on metal seemed un-naturally loud in the still of night. His eyes quickly accustomed to the dark of the tent, and there she sat across from him, smirking. She calmly placed his shield back on the floor where she had found it, and settled in a bit too comfortably beside his bedroll, saying nothing.

The camp of course had jumped to life with the sudden noise and he glared at the warden and made a mental note _**not**_ to check his throbbing fist for damage until after she left. Why, why was she even here?

"Well, go on." She motioned to the increasing commotion feet away from them beyond the weathered yellowed tent flap. "Go tell them you were punching me or chasing ghosts, or whatever excuse you find fitting for your thunderous attack on your own shield." Her eyes were dancing as she again motioned a bit too animatedly to the growing noise outside, as companions set to determining the cause of the intrusion on their sleep.

Loghain stuck his head sheepishly out of his tent to the sleepy yet chillingly clearheaded stares of others doing the same. " It's ok, it was just me…just a ….dream…." his voice trailed off. _Pi__tiful lie_, he thought. "Sorry." He pulled himself fully into his tent and settled back onto his bedroll, cautiously eyeing his midnight visitor for clues as to the nature of her visit, too tired to be overly concerned at his lazy attempt at an explanation but strangely filled with more curiosity than exhaustion.

He turned to look squarely at the warden. Her hair was down now, released from the tight braid that she let control the red locks during her days. The braids had formed wavy ridges in her long hair and they flowed gracefully down around her shoulders. Her face was scrubbed clean, cheeks red from the winds of their journey to camp. _She was breathtaking_, he thought _…and interrupting his sleep for what had better be a damned good reason._ Flowing hair and wide eyes or not, she had better speak quickly.

But she didn't. She stared instead.

_Oh for the love of the Maker, I was awoken to continue to be an object of disdain. Hurray._ Loghain was snide, even in his own mind. He was too old to change however and found no reason to find it essential to do so. After all, it was SHE invading his bedspace. There had to be some rule as to why this was an acceptable occasion for a bit of venom, surely.

Her eyes fully took in the man in front of her. Easily 20 years her senior she let her gaze trail from the grey streaking his shoulder length black hair to the deep lines formed on his brow, the playfully etched lines at the corners of his eyes and around his mouth. Some teased of moments quite unlike the sour look currently on his face, but the look he wore so comfortably now looked to be a favourite of his, it was well worn into his rugged face. Gentle lines drew her gaze again to his lips, lips that not entirely unsurprisingly were scowling in her direction.

"Now, now Loghain." She whispered firmly. "There is no need to look even grumpier than usual for my benefit." She softened slightly and continued on. " I'm very sorry, but….. I couldn't sleep. " Had Loghain not been so annoyed, he would have given her more credit for having the sense to look remotely sheepish.

"And you were kind enough of course, to come in and share this fact with me. Well, I'm supposed to feel fortunate now I expect, Warden?" The words came out cold and hollow, worse in fact than he intended them but he would not take them back, nor would he apologize for them.

The tent was silent. Their companions appeared to have drifted back to sleep or had the decency to at least pretend to have done so. In the silence their words hung between them like bastard children of a lost moment in time.

The warden sat beside him. A long white cotton sleeping gown adorned her body like a ghostly shroud, its hem bunched around her bare feet in the dry dirt, her knees tucked into her chest, arms tightly around them. Hugging herself. Loghain felt the chill of the night on his own skin and gently grabbed the blanket from his cot and draped it around her shoulders with an apologetic nod.

She looked to Loghain and blinked. Her eyes were much softer than earlier, though now he could see them clearly enough to know they held within their confines a lot of pain. He wondered if they regretted letting him live, costing her something she seemed to hold very dear: Alistair.

"Thank you."

It was only those two words she spoke, so softly they could scarcely be heard over the pounding of his own heart, but there they were.

"Enough!" Loghain growled roughly. "Why are you here?"

The girl jumped, startled at his tone so soon to his kind gesture and broke his gaze, looking down at the dry dirt floor, glancing where her bare feet had left soft prints leading to the side of his bed.

"Loghain…" Her voice was, what….husky? No, surely not that. Strained. Strained. _Where the hell did he get husky out of THAT?_ he wondered. By the Maker, he must be half asleep and half-dead or stupid. This had to be a joke dredged from some foul magic no doubt conjured up by that crazy swamp witch the warden somehow travelled with. But, regardless of his internal dialogue he softened his tone. " You need to talk?" he offered with an uncharacteristically open yet cautious glance in her direction.

She nodded and bit her lip, her teeth keeping tight on her lower lip for a moment before letting it fall away…not that Loghain was in fact staring at those lips.

She began, somewhat apologetically if her tone conveyed anything. " I…I was wrong."

"About what?" Loghain grunted_. A midnight confession. How quaint. If they only had a lunar eclipse, some cheap wine and an out-of-tune minstrel things could not be much stranger._ He was suddenly aware that he was quite underdressed, wearing only his small-clothes trousers. He crossed his arms defensively in front of his bare chest which she seemed to read as disinterest in her conversation rather than what it was, nudity. He chuckled despite himself at this thought and she visibly stiffened and stood too quickly banging her head on the low ceiling of his tent. He lept up to try to steady her too soon and felt his head crack into hers as she ducked back down. He groaned and rubbed his temple but motioned to the girl to sit back down to settle this matter before he was too maimed to be much use against a mouse let alone a darkspawn incursion. A smashed fist and crack on the head necessitates at least an explanation he reasoned.

As the girl settled back down beside him, tossing her hair over her shoulder and out of her face, old blood flashed on her temple and without thinking Loghain reached over and moved her hair to see the wound she had concealed below. It was a nasty gash.

His touch was so soft, gentle… She felt an old familiar surge of passion inside her that wanted so desperately to lean into his warm touch, but instead she stiffened and looked away.

Loghain froze for a moment, pulled his hand away and cleared his throat. "Nasty scrape you have there, lady." But even the obvious couldn't erase, well, the obvious. There it was, plain as could be. So obvious in fact that one might have thought it was another entire person present in the tent with them. But, they were very alone. The warden sat so close to Loghain that he could smell her…like…dew. Dew? Something familiar…His mind drifted. He could feel her heat beside him. Maker, she was beautiful. And so close. And too young. He was just an old man.

Loghain consoled himself with the knowledge that it was she in his tent and not the alternative.

Was it his imagination, his hope, or his exhaustion that made him think that she had leaned even closer to him?

But _she had_ moved closer to Loghain. Unsure what emotion drove her to seek this man out tonight, she didn't pause to wonder or control what was very likely a horrible mistake waiting to happen, but she simply wanted him, tonight. And so she came.

Loghain breathed slowly and carefully. The poor girl had come to him but why? His faith in the maker suddenly redeemed in his need for divine assistance, he stayed very still until he was sure he would not do…whatever was the wrong thing. With her heat so close, her scent mingling with his own in the cramped tent, nothing seemed clear.

"Leave" he barked. " We can speak on the morrow."

Silence.

He refused to look up from the pebble near his boot where his gaze sat firmly affixed, though from the corner of his eye he saw the poor girl freeze. He also saw her hand reach out, almost touching his arm as if to direct his body and gaze back to her. He closed his eyes fearing he would lose all remaining sense the taint had not taken from him that day if she did in fact do so. She stopped before their touch met and paused but Loghain refused to meet her gaze.

Moments dragged out uncomfortably slowly and nothing more than tension and unmet passion passed between them. Soon, Loghain was aware of the sound of feet padding softly away. His tent was silent again. Loghain was alone. His head throbbed. His hand throbbed. _It seems the sentiment of the eve_, and he snorted at the irony of that statement. His gaze fell to the end of his bedroll, and his blanket sitting neatly atop it. She had folded it for him before leaving silently.

He lay down again in the now chilled cot and wrapped that same blanket around himself, breathing deeply in the scent that lingered there.

Orchids, he mused. She smelled of orchids.


End file.
